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Her eyebrows lower, suspicion written on her face.
“Listen to me. I’m not going to spike your water or poison your food. I had no other option when I used the needle back home. I have plenty now.” I edge my body closer to her, my cock thickening from the simple touch of her foot on my calf. “All I have to say is moo—”
Leighton’s fear of her trance trigger is sufficient. It does the work of eliminating her resistance. She takes the straw in her mouth, slurping on the water.
My smirk widens, knowing she’ll beg me to use this word plenty in no time.
“Enough.” As much as I enjoy watching her suck on the straw like it’s my cock, I don’t need her to throw up.
I return the bottle to the table, then swipe a drop of water from the corner of Leighton’s mouth.
Fucking Milo better not have been anywhere near those lips.
“I’m doing okay,” she finally answers when I turn to grab the ravioli plate. The sass in her tone is undeniable, and she’s no longer suggestible, but I’ll take it. As long as she’s talking. “All things considered.”
“Very well.” I stab one piece with a fork, starting with a more benign question for the sake of my sanity. “The move to New York. How do you feel about it?”
Her nose twitches, sniffing the familiar aroma of the food. Her hunger for me and food alike transforms her face into a delicious picture of want. I’ve stripped her literally and figuratively.
Soon, she’ll confess.
“Is this…?” Leighton glances at me beneath her lashes.
Any time now.
“Yes, it is. Your favorite.” I drag the ravioli in repetitive motions over the sauce on the plate. “Would you like one?”
“Marcus.” Leighton’s eyebrows furl infinitesimally. “You’re being cruel.”
“I’d feed it to you, except…” Being the sadist I am, I hover the ravioli an inch from her parted lips, only to snatch it back. “Your cooperation is required.”
“You have it,” she snaps. “You know you do.”
I don’t engage in this back and forth. Instead, I avert the conversation to where I want it. “New York. Why did you really want to move?”
“My pa—”
“You break my rules, you can forget about dinner.” To show her I’m not fucking around, I shove the ravioli meant for Leighton into my mouth.
“You’re a monster,” she cries out. She acted as if she wasn’t hungry before. She can’t anymore. “Please, Marcus.”
Pretending to be unperturbed by her outburst, I chew deliberately slow. Swallow. Her desperate, hushed sigh gets my dick so fucking hard. I ignore that too.
“Why did you insist you and Rylan find a job there, of all places?”
“Why did you insist we go to college in Texas?”
“You needed the space. Ry needed to spread her wings.” Grow less territorial. She hasn’t. I consider my earlier question, rephrasing it to get the answer I need. “Why move halfway across the country?”
“Food first.”
“That’s cute. No.”
Leighton sucks in a deep breath, and her tits stretch my T-shirt she’s wearing. Her nipples react to me, hardening despite my cruelty.
“You,” she huffs eventually, her shoulders sagging. “Happy now? You didn’t want me the way I wanted you. I had to get away. I couldn’t sit there and pine for a man who’d never look at me. A man I couldn’t have.”
When I raise an eyebrow, she corrects herself, “I didn’t think you wanted me. I had to move on. I deserved better than that. I deserve better than this.”
